


Take a bite of my heart tonight

by mikkijam



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Getting Together, How Do I Tag, M/M, Odontophilia maybe, Oral Fixation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 19:25:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkijam/pseuds/mikkijam
Summary: “So I noticed you been watching me, T. Watching my mouth. My teeth, right?” Erik lets a smirk slip out. “You must really like what you been looking at.”





	Take a bite of my heart tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ben_jaded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ben_jaded/gifts), [quixotesque](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixotesque/gifts).



> Thank you to both [ben_jaded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ben_jaded/) and [quixotesque](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixotesque/) for not only welcoming me to this fandom, but also encouraging and helping write this. You both took me under your wings and gave me the confidence I needed to write.

Erik notices it one afternoon during a casual conversation -- the way T'Challa’s eyes always follow his lips when he’s talking, the way they darken whenever Erik smirks, smiles, snarls. 

After that, Erik keeps noticing it. Keeps watching out for it. 

It has to be his teeth, he figures. Specifically his gold-capped canines. It’s rare in Wakanda for someone to have any gold teeth; as far as Erik knows, he could be the only one. 

But his theory for what lies behind T’Challa’s attention is still only a theory and Erik likes certainty, so he carries out the necessary experiments, parting his mouth just enough whenever he’s sure T'Challa is watching, running the tip of his tongue over the lower set of his teeth, slow over the gold canines, and _bingo_ \-- T'Challa’s watching every time like he can’t look away, gaze growing intent, hungry, the longer he stares. 

Being right is its own satisfaction, but more than that, being on the other end of that covetous look does something to Erik. Makes a hot frisson work its way through his body, heat his skin. He realizes quickly enough that it’s both addictive to have T’Challa look at him like that and not enough. He wants more than just T’Challa’s eyes on him. 

The next time they’re alone together, he throws it out there casually, shamelessly, like it’s no big deal even though it would shift their relationship immensely: “So you wanna make out or something?”

T'Challa blinks. He pauses in the middle of drinking his glass of fresh juice. Erik’s eyes fall on those long, elegant fingers. 

“Are you really that bored of our conversation, N’Jadaka?"

“Nah, man. I like talking to you. You know that.” 

T’Challa smiles and suddenly it’s Erik’s turn to be the one unable to look away from T’Challa’s mouth and how it’s -- beautiful, really. That smile. 

“There was a time you would’ve never said something like that, especially to me.”

Erik shrugs. He remembers those times well and the demons he’s had to fight. He likes to think he’s winning these days. “Things change. People change.” 

“Yes, they do.” T’Challa traces the rim of his glass with a forefinger. “So what’s changed now? Where is this sudden question coming from?” 

Erik briefly considers saying, _My dick?_ He figures it probably isn’t the best answer. “I mean -- you’re single. I’m single. It’d be hot, don’t you think?” 

“Anything else?” 

“We’re both men with needs?”

T’Challa is silent as he mulls over Erik’s response. Then he says, “I think maybe it’s for the best if we didn’t.”

“Your loss, bruh,” Erik says, laughing, ignoring the sharp stab of disappointment he feels. He knows T'Challa wants to kiss him. All he has to do is wait him out and Erik can be patient. Usually. 

Despite turning Erik down, T'Challa keeps watching. It becomes impossible to escape the not-furtive-enough glances he shoots Erik’s way. Sometimes Erik thinks T’Challa’s doing it on purpose, not trying hard enough to hide his watching because it’ll work Erik up, get him all jittery with lust so that he has to jerk himself off at night, thinking of those dark eyes, that beautiful mouth, imagining T’Challa’s watching him still as he comes into his hand. 

It’s definitely proof of something as far as Erik is concerned. He can feel his cousin’s gaze like a physical pressure and it’s distracting, the only thing he seems to be able to think about now. It wreaks havoc on the patience he’d thought he could depend on and the longer it goes on, the more annoyed Erik gets, especially when other people start to notice T'Challa’s strange behavior. 

The last straw is when Shuri corners him to ask, “What did you do to my brother?”

Erik resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, the Princess would blame him. “Why don’t you ask him?” he asks.

“I did!” Shuri hisses.

“An’ what he say?”

Her scowl and petulant little mutter of, “To mind my own business,” has him chortling.

“Man has a right to act strange.” Erik pats her head in a way he knows is condescending. “Leave your brother alone. I’m sure it’s nothing serious.”

Although it is. It is serious, Erik thinks. 

The talk with Shuri emboldens him. It pushes him into getting ready to break this strange dance he and T'Challa have been engaging in. Erik knows T'Challa wants him; he just needs to stop being a coward and give Erik what he wants and what Erik wants is to scrape his teeth against the column of T'Challa’s neck, bite down hard enough to leave a mark. He wants for T'Challa to lick his way into Erik’s mouth, to run his tongue against his teeth. 

He wants T'Challa to kiss him. 

Knowing T’Challa’s schedule by heart, it’s easy for Erik to figure out the next evening that T’Challa would be alone in his palace apartment. When they see Erik approaching, the Dora Milaje are only a little curious about his presence in T'Challa’s side of the residential wing, a long way away from the outright suspicion they’d once treated him with. 

He enters the apartment to find T'Challa sitting in his living room, a tablet in front of him. He looks busy and Erik feels a hint of guilty for interrupting him, but it’s easy to shrug it off when he knows it’s what they both want. Erik can admit, if only to himself, that he’s never wanted to be kissed by someone else so much.

The usual friendly little smile graces T'Challa’s face when he looks up and sees Erik. He makes to get up. Erik waves him off and goes to sit right next to him, close enough for their body heat to sink into one another, thighs almost pressing together. 

They run through small talk that Erik vaguely registers. He barely pays attention to the words coming out of his mouth, the reason he’s come to T’Challa’s rooms tonight at the forefront of his mind. Eventually, he can’t hold it in any longer.

“So I noticed you been watching me, T. Watching my mouth. My teeth, right?” Erik lets a smirk slip out. “You must really like what you been looking at.” 

T’Challa shakes his head, but if the huffing laugh that escapes his mouth is any indication, it’s not a shake of the head that means disagreement. “Yes, I thought you’d noticed. I’d thought that was why you were asking that day.”

“It was, but you said no. I’m still not sure why you did, actually.” 

“I figured,” T’Challa says cryptically. “Your gold canines, I’ve never seen anything quite like them. They -- fascinate me.”

“I know,” Erik breathes out. This is it. This is what he wanted. For T'Challa to admit to some kind of interest. “You can touch them, if you want.” 

“Are you certain?” T'Challa asks huskily.

“‘Course I am,” Erik replies, startled by how strangled and breathless his voice sounded. It feels as if he’s been waiting for this moment for forever. He licks his lips on reflex and T'Challa’s eyes drop to his mouth, a ferocity to them that makes Erik breathe faster. 

T’Challa’s movements are slow and gentle as he slides a calloused thumb over Erik’s cheek. Erik’s heart leaps. Starts to pound heavily against his ribcage. T'Challa cups Erik’s jaw tenderly. His skin is so warm against Erik’s and it becomes impossible not to lean into the touch. It’s a natural response, almost. Erik’s face seems made to be cupped by T’Challa’s hand.

His breath hitches when T'Challa’s thumb slowly swipes across his lips, tracing the curve of them. The pad of his thumb gingerly presses against Erik’s bottom lip. Heart hammering against his chest, Erik opens up, the rest of him held tense and still even as hot little crackles bolt beneath his skin. 

Any thoughts he’d had of playing this evening cool evaporate from Erik’s head instantly. He’s reacting too much too fast and he doesn’t know why T’Challa’s already affecting him like this, but he can’t think too long on it because T’Challa’s tracing the lines of his teeth now. 

Erik opens his mouth wider and T'Challa presses a thumb against his tongue and Erik makes a sound he can’t help. A hushed moan at the back of his throat. 

T'Challa turns his attention to Erik’s gold canines, then, thumbing the curve of them, so focused on the task that Erik has to smother another embarrassing sound -- a _whimper_ \-- before it escapes him. 

T'Challa can be so intense sometimes and Erik soaks it up, having T'Challa’s undivided attention. It turns him on, makes his cock harden. There’s a power here that he could get high off, being able to command T'Challa’s attention like this, but simultaneously Erik can tell that it’s not a one-way thing. That sitting here, letting T’Challa touch him intimately, wanting it this much, Erik is bending to T’Challa’s will, giving into T’Challa as he explores the warm cavern of Erik’s mouth like he owns it, displaying the same easy arrogance that rule his daily actions. 

Erik waits to feel ashamed that something so silly as T'Challa rubbing along his teeth has him panting for it, so hard and aching that he could come just like this. The shame doesn’t hit. 

Quietly, as if to keep the words just between them, T’Challa says, “I said no to you that day, N’Jadaka, because I’d wanted it to be like this between us. Honest. Real. Not a joke. Not something casual.” He draws his thumb out, resting it on Erik’s bottom lip, stroking. “And you want the same, yes?”

“Yeah,” Erik says, hoarse. Sincere in a way he hadn’t let himself be last time. “Yeah, I do.” 

This is exactly what he needs. What he’d come here for somehow, without even really realizing it. Erik leans in and T’Challa dips his head down slightly and they seal their agreement between their mouths.


End file.
